Chapter 5 - The Confession of Thomas Kane
Back at the Rockford safehouse, Adrian sat in an old rocking chair by the fireplace, holding Lily while she slept peacefully against his chest. Grace sat across from him on a worn sofa, while little Emma played quietly on the rug with her one-eyed rabbit.
"Grace," Adrian said, his voice quiet yet commanding as he looked up from his daughter. "You mentioned Thomas Kane. You said you found him alive on the embankment. Where is he now?"
Grace looked away, her expression darkening with fear. "He’s hidden. After the ambush, when he realized the men in the Vale security jackets were part of the hit squad, he knew he couldn't go to a hospital. He crawled to an old hunting cabin three miles north of the crash site."
"Can you take me to him?"
"Adrian—he’s badly hurt. The burns on his legs... he hasn't had proper medical attention in months. He’s been surviving on canned goods and rainwater."
"Take me to him," Adrian repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He carefully transferred sleeping Lily into Grace’s arms. "I need answers. And Thomas is the only man who can give me the name of the traitor sitting at my right hand."
Ten minutes later, Adrian and Grace were back in the sedan, driving further into the dense, rain-soaked timberlands north of the property.
The hunting cabin was an isolated shack swallowed by towering pines and thick brush. No lights shone from its broken windows.
Adrian killed the engine, drew his sidearm—a suppressed Sig Sauer P226—and checked the chamber with a practiced, silent click.
"Stay in the car," Adrian told Grace.
"Adrian, be careful—"
He stepped out into the freezing rain, his boots crunching quietly against the wet gravel. He approached the wooden door of the cabin, noting that it was slightly ajar.
He kicked it open with his boot, weapon raised, sweeping the room in a fraction of a second.
The cabin was dark, smelling of damp wood and antiseptic. In the corner, huddled beneath a heavy woolen blanket on a cot, a man gasped, throwing his hands up to shield his eyes from the sudden draft.
It was Thomas Kane.
Once a towering, immaculate head of private security, Thomas now looked like a ghost. His face was scarred with jagged burn marks, his breathing shallow and rattling.
"A-Adrian?" Thomas wheezed, his eyes widening in terror as he recognized the man standing over him. "You... you found me."
Adrian lowered the gun slightly, walking over to the cot and kneeling beside him.
"Grace told me everything, Thomas," Adrian said, his voice dangerously soft. "She told me about the men in the Vale jackets. She told me my daughter is alive. Now, I want you to tell me the name of the man who ordered the hit."
Thomas coughed, a thin line of blood escaping the corner of his mouth. He looked up at Adrian with eyes full of agonizing guilt.
"I tried to stop them, boss," Thomas whispered, his hands trembling. "On the service road... when the trucks blocked our path... I thought it was Mercer’s men. But then the rear vehicle opened fire on our own lead car."
"Who was in charge?" Adrian demanded, gripping the edge of the cot. "Who gave the order?"
Thomas’s breath hitched. He reached out with a scarred, shaking hand, grabbing Adrian’s wrist.
"It was... it was..."
Before Thomas could finish the name, a deafening CRACK shattered the silence of the cabin.
A high-powered rifle bullet tore through the wooden wall, striking Thomas squarely in the chest.
Adrian dropped instantly, rolling off the cot and drawing his weapon, scanning the broken windows as the sound of a silenced sniper rifle echoed through the surrounding woods.
"Thomas!" Adrian yelled, crawling back to the cot.
It was too late. The bullet had pierced his heart. Thomas Kane’s eyes stared blankly toward the ceiling, his final secret dying on his lips.
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Outside, heavy footsteps crunched rapidly through the brush.
Adrian vaulted through the broken window into the dark timberline, his Sig Sauer raised, hunting the ghost that had just silenced his only witness.
